


War for the Dawn

by kiwiskreationz



Series: Gold Burns Red [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiskreationz/pseuds/kiwiskreationz
Summary: Seventy years have passed since the journey for Erebor. Din joins the Fellowship to protect Frodo on his journey to destroy the Ring, but eventually finds her own role in the war. With her Silmaril always at her side, she will do everything in her power to fight the darkness of Sauron, but his unyielding evil will test her courage.
Series: Gold Burns Red [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/553105
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1: Reuniting With Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel to “Gold Burns Red”, which I wrote I think four years ago. I was originally only going to write brief short stories of Din’s journeys during the War of the Ring, but Something inspired me to fill all it in instead.  
> For any who don't remember or are meeting Din for the first time, she speaks with an Erid Luin accent like Bofur and Dwalin. To emphasize this, I will occasionally drop in phonetically spelled words when her accent is coming through really thickly, but not too often. Also, for variation, I will be using material from both the movies and the books as I did last time.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from “The Lord of the Rings”, owned by the master himself, Mr. J. R. R. Tolkien. I do not claim ownership of these characters or settings that I am borrowing to recreate a story of my imagination. It is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am grateful to Mr. Tolkien for inventing such a magical world full of wonderful characters, without which this story would not exist.

Chapter 1: Reuniting With Old Friends

TA Spring 3001, The Shire

Din readjusted her fake beard, but it still somehow made her entire face itch. It annoyed her to no end to wear it, but she knew it was for the best. While she had no personal qualms with people knowing she was a she-dwarf, most of the other she-dwarves were not ready to venture into the world and still preferred that people thought the tale of Din the Dragon Rider was nothing more than a tall tale. And so, the story of her involvement in the quest for Erebor had dwindled to nothing more than gossip by those who still remembered it. She continued to futz with her beard and her uncle Bofur let out a hoarse laugh. She glared sourly over her shoulder at him atop his pony.

“Leave it be or it’ll snap,” said her cousin Bifur to her left. 

She begrudgingly left the ratty thing alone, stuffed her dark hair behind her ears, and rode in grumpy silence. The rolling green hills of the Shire sprawled out on either side of them, as soft and lush as the fluffy clouds above. It had been several long years since she had last made the journey, but this time was different. Bilbo planned to leave the Shire after his birthday. He was old, so Din would convince him to let them accompany him to Rivendell. He was a stubborn hobbit—nearly as stubborn as a dwarf—and wanted to do it on his own, but she would butter him up with nostalgia by reciting tales from their journey to Erebor. By the time she was done, he would be begging for one last adventure with his old companions. 

Or, those who had been available to come, that is. Fili was too busy in his role as King Under the Mountain and Bomber was now much too large to make the journey. In fact, it now took six dwarves to move him from his bed to his table! Balin, Oin, and Ori, however, would be absent for reasons that tied Din’s insides into knots. They had gone on an expedition to reclaim Moria twelve years ago and had not been heard from since. Din had been trying, in vain, to convince Fili to send others to look for them, but he believed it to be too dangerous.

And so, only Bifur, Bofur, Gloin, Nori, Dori, Dwalin, and Din were able to come to celebrate the old hobbit’s birthday. Slowly, every few miles, they began to spot the signs of rural civilization. A house here and there with a fenced-in pasture for livestock and fields of grain or wheat or cotton. Eventually, lanterns began to light their way as the darkness of dusk dimmed the road before them. 

They were close enough to Hobbiton that they didn’t bother to stop and make camp. Sure enough, the hills broke away shortly after dark and the land was cracked in half by a stream. Their ponies passed over a small bridge. The lanterns around town were low and as they passed, lights came on in the round windows of several hobbit holes. Curious small faces peeked out, puzzled as to who could be arriving, late as the hour was, only to disappear again at the suspicious sight of a line of dwarves. The dwarven troop trotted along the familiar roads and wound their way to Bag End. The lights inside were still on as the busy wee hobbit was likely finishing preparations for his party.

Din hopped off her pony at the gate and bounded up the walkway with eager feet, ignoring Gloin’s complaint about her not tying up her own horse. She rapped her knuckles on the door loudly and waited. No answer came. 

“Bilbo Baggins!” She bellowed in her fake manly voice. “You would leave guests on your doorstep after traveling such a long way to see you?” She heard an exclamation from the old hobbit within. When he opened the door, Din swept down into a bow. “Dinli, at your service,” She said, using the ever-so-clever pseudonym Fili had given her when she had first met Bilbo.

The old hobbit tucked one hand into the pocket of his green vest and pressed the other to his chest. He gave a teary laugh. Din pulled her beard off and rushed in to hug him.

“Oh! My dear girl, I did not know you were coming!”

“How could I not? The walls of Erebor will continue to stand without me there to stand watch,” she said. There was still much controversy surrounding Din’s post in the Guard at Erebor after Fili had appointed her ten years ago. She had spent every waking minute trying to prove herself to the men she served with, which was the main contributor in her decision not to come to the Shire for his birthday the past eight years. Not that the other dwarves came every year, either. The journey was much too long and they would spend most of their time traveling back and forth on the road if they did.

“Come in, come in!” Bilbo ushered her forward eagerly and held the door for the other dwarves, now clomping up the walk exhaustedly from their long journey. Din, as the youngest, was obviously the most spritely of the group and had energy yet for the night.

She found young Frodo in the dining room, wrapping presents that Bilbo would be giving away at his party. It was still an odd custom, Din thought, that hobbits gave gifts to their guests on their birthday rather than the other way ‘round. The dwarves had sent the gifts he had ordered ahead some weeks before with Dwalin, who was also sitting at the table, though he was clearly far too busy lounging to help with the wrapping.

“There you are, you old lump,” Din said, thumping her hand onto his shoulder. He grumbled something at her and she beamed and looked down at Frodo. Bilbo had long ago told the young lad who Din was, so there was no need to hide her face from him.

“Hello, Din,” he said with a smirk. “Merry and Pippin will be glad to see you. They’ve been asking if the elusive ‘Dinli’ will make an appearance this year.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to help them get into plenty of trouble to make up for my absence.”

“You’d better not,” warned Bofur over by the doorway. “Have I taught you nothing about being an upstanding citizen?” The dwarf set his fists on his hips and leveled her with a disapproving look, diminished by the silliness of his hat and mustache, which had gone as grey as Bilbo’s hair. To shatter the illusion altogether, the old dwarf opened his mouth and let out a random belch. The room burst into laughter.

Everyone sat down to a late dinner that night, after which the other dwarves and Bilbo went to bed. Din stayed up to help Frodo with more wrapping.

Din’s heart thrummed against her rib cage as she sprinted down the dirt path in the dark the next evening. She rushed up the steps to Bag End, desperately hoping that Bilbo had not left in a hurry before anyone could come looking. He had been so busy during the party with all of his guests that Din had only been able to say a few words to him. Without bothering to knock, she threw open the door and sprinted into the entryway, her heavy boots echoing on the hard wooden floor.

“Bilbo?” She called out.

“In here, my dear. You’re just in time.”

Din followed his voice to the living room, where the old hobbit was shuffling about, finishing off loose ends to his packing. “You have to take me with you,” She demanded.

Bilbo stopped and turned, his eyes two round orbs of confused surprise. “What?”

“Take me with you,” she repeated. “I know you hoped to make the journey alone, but think about how much fun we would have retracing our steps to Rivendell. We wouldn’t be able to visit Dale—”

“And why not?” He asked. It was Din’s turn to stop short. He chuckled. “I plan to retire in Rivendell, yes, but I planned to try to remake the journey to Erebor if I can.”

“Then you most certainly cannot go alone!”

Bilbo let out a heartfelt laugh that shook his old frame. “Why, Din, it was always the plan to have you all accompany me! How ever did you get the idea that I wished to make the trip alone?”

“Oh…” Din frowned, feeling foolish and embarrassed. “Well, Bofur said…”

Bilbo laughed again. “You’ve been the victim of a joke, dear Din. Your uncle knows how to get you all worked up, that’s for certain.” He moved over to the fireplace and set an envelope on the mantle. Din pouted beneath her fake whiskers.

“Are we about ready to begin?” Asked Bofur, popping into the doorway behind her. Din turned a weathering glare on him, but he only grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Bilbo set his hands on his hips, looking about. “Yes, yes, I’m almost ready. Is everything in the wagon labeled?”

“Absolutely,” Bofur answered. With his back turned, Bilbo was unable to see the shifty look in Bofur’s eye that suggested that he had had no idea that Bilbo wanted things to be labeled. Bofur bustled back to the door just as it opened. Gandalf rushed inside, looking around eagerly for Bilbo. Upon spotting him, the old wizard’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“I am relieved to find you visible,” He said, seating himself at a table by the window. “I wanted to speak with you before you left. Could you give us a few minutes alone, Din?”

“Oh, o’ course,” replied Din in surprise. “I’ll just, uh, go finish packin’ my things.” She slipped into the hall and meant to head for the spare room Bilbo had put her up in, but curiosity got the better of her and she clung to the wall instead. 

Back in the other room, the pair began to joke about the surprise flash Gandalf had added to the hobbit’s disappearing act to conceal his method. Thinking that, perhaps the old man had in fact only wanted some time alone to say goodbye to an old friend, Din prepared to leave. Then, after a pause, Bilbo began to speak. He sounded weak. His age was peeking through his well-kept exterior.

“I am old, Gandalf. I know I don’t look it, but I’m beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. ‘Well-preserved’, that’s what they call me. Indeed, but I’m beginning to feel stretched. Like butter that’s been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right.”

“No, it can’t,” Agreed Gandalf.

Din frowned. She had noticed it, too, the odd youth that seemed to cling to Bilbo like a parasite. In fact, he seemed to have aged less than the older dwarves. It was unusual and it unnerved Din. She had looked for information in what books they had at Erebor, but their collection barely filled one room and its contents were hardly ancient tomes for the inquisitive mind. Perhaps she could counsel with Elrond when they arrived in Rivendell.

Din pulled out of her reverie at the sound of rising voices. “There’s no reason to get angry,” Gandalf was saying.

“So what if I’m angry? It’s your fault!” Bilbo accused, not sounding at all like himself. The hairs on the back of Din’s neck rose. “It’s mine, I tell you. Mine! I found it. It came to me!”

“It has got far too much hold over you. Let it go,” Gandalf urged. “We have been friends your entire long life. Come, do as you promised me and leave it.”

“If you want my ring for yourself, just admit it!” Bilbo cried. “But you won’t get it. I won’t give my precious away.”

“BILBO BAGGINS!” Gandalf’s voice boomed through the house like a sudden crash of thunder. Din flinched and the angry hobbit stopped speaking. When Gandalf spoke again, it was gentler. “I am not trying to rob you. I’m trying to help you.”

Bilbo calmed down and she heard him give a whimper. He conceded with Gandalf’s request and, with reluctance, left his magical ring to young Frodo before heading out the door.

Din rushed to her room to grab her pack and ended up flattening her back against the door. The interaction had left her with a horrible taste in her mouth. She took a moment to recollect her nerves and regain her composure, lest Bilbo see in her demeanor that she had been listening in. She finally straightened and set her shoulders when a knock came at her door.

“Din?” Came the docile tone of Gandalf in inquiry.

She opened the door and found him wringing his hands together in the hall. Concern and worry etched deep ridges into his old wrinkled face. “I’m afraid I must ask a very difficult favor of you.”

The dwarf frowned. “What is it, Gandalf?”

“I am going to assume you were listening. No, I am not angry. In fact, it makes this simpler. I must leave at the morrow. I have too many questions about Bilbo’s ring that need to be answered and I cannot find those answers here, but I also dare not leave Frodo alone with it. If I am right, he may be in danger. The Ring has dwelt here for so long that I fear the enemy will eventually hear of it and I cannot know how long I will be away.”

Disappointment deflated the bubble of excitement in Din’s chest at the prospect of journeying with her troop again. “You truly believe it is that dangerous?”

The wizard looked at her with empathy and regret. “It is an unfair thing to ask, but I must. As you know, Mordor has been stirring as of late. Orc attacks are more widespread than they have been in centuries. The enemy is moving. We cannot let him find what he seeks.”

“Bilbo’s ring? How could a trinket be so important to him?”

“If I am right, it is more than just a trinket.”

Din looked forlornly to the window for a few moments and then sighed. This was no time to be petulant. There was much unease outside the secluded Shire. Times were difficult, growing darker all the time. If Gandalf could find a lead that would help them understand and fight back, Din would help however she could. “I will look after Frodo.”


	2. The Ring of Power

Chapter 2: The Ring of Power

Gandalf had no idea how long he would be gone. As such, he and Frodo helped Din acquire a temporary identity as a hobbit named Shayli—she’d chosen the name after a pony she had lost many years ago—who had just moved from the rural parts outside of the Shire. This allowed her to remain in Hobbiton less conspicuously than if she had been a dwarf. She resided in a tiny hole that had been vacant for some time after its inhabitant had passed on. Her cover was to be hired by Frodo as a housekeeper, as an excuse for why she would be around so often.

Several months passed by with no word from Gandalf. Din grew more and more restless. The calm lives of the hobbits left her with too much time to think and fret, though Frodo did not consider his days calm for some time. Even now, he was turning people away from his door who thought they had a claim on something that had belonged to Bilbo.

At the beginning of the summer, hobbits celebrate Mid-Year’s Day with a huge festival. For all the excitement in the Shire, all Din felt was uneasy and a bit queasy. She went out to the festival upon Frodo’s behest but spent the entire day hoping to see a glimpse of Gandalf above the crowd. Her hopes that the holiday would draw him back were dashed after the sun sank below the horizon. Hobbits continued about their festivities, much as they had after Bilbo’s departure, but melancholy clung to Din’s soul like dense spiderwebs.

She retreated from the celebration, folding her arms around herself in the faint, chill breeze. Her thin shoes scraped the dirt beneath her feet as she dragged them along. She idly kicked a small stone and regretted the decision when stung her big toe. Curse these stupid shoes! She thought bitterly, missing her boots. It wasn’t long before the sound of rough feet flitting across the dirt path told her that someone had followed her.

“Wait up, Din,” called Frodo.

“Shayli,” she reminded him sternly as she turned to let him catch up.

He winced. “Sorry.” The furrow in his dark brows was accentuated in the moonlight and the glow contrasted his pale skin and dark hair more than normal. “You’re really worried, aren’t you?” Now at her side, he slowed to a walk and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

Din slipped a hand into the pocket of her dress as well to cup it around the Silmaril for comfort. “Yes. The more I worry, the less I sleep, and the less I sleep, the more I seem to worry. I should not be so surprised it has taken him so long to return. He always had a knack for getting caught up in things and getting sidetracked. At least, since I’ve known him.”

“Bilbo said the same thing; that Gandalf left halfway through your quest, only to reappear at the end.”

Din nodded but did not add to the statement. They walked back to Frodo’s home in silence. As they walked up the steps, however, Din caught Frodo’s arm to stop him.

“Wait. I did not leave the window open. Did you?”

Frodo frowned. “No, but we don’t exactly keep our doors locked ‘round these parts. Perhaps the old Gaffer or Sam stopped in for some water after a bit of gardening earlier. They’ve always worked much too hard.”

“Still, stay behind me.” Din pulled a dagger from a holster she kept hidden on her shin and hopped up the rest of the steps. The hinges of the door squeaked loudly in the stillness of the house and Din winced. Whoever was inside would now know that they had returned. Din crept through the foyer on light feet, regardless. A flash of movement drew her eye to the sitting room on her left, but she only found a few papers tousled about by the breeze from the open window. A floorboard creaked behind her and she spun, dagger raised. Gandalf rushed forward, his hair unkempt and his eyes wild. A startled gasp escaped her, but she stopped before lunging out to strike at him.

“What are you doing?” She scolded in exasperation, clutching her chest to ease her racing heart.

He narrowed in on Frodo, paying her no mind. He nearly toppled the wee hobbit when he emphatically reached for his shoulder. “Is it secret? Is it safe?”

There was a long silence, perforated only by Gandalf puffing on his pipe. Din drew her arms around herself. How could they have been in the presence of something so evil for so long and not have felt it? He said that this ring needed to go to the fire mountain of Oroduin in the black land of Mordor, but looking at Frodo—with his face turning green as he looked at the simple golden ring on the table—she was not sure if he had the strength nor the courage to do it. Just then, the hobbit’s pale blue eyes flicked to her, pleading and afraid.

“No, Frodo,” said Gandalf.

Din frowned and stepped over to the table, peering down at the little golden thing. “Why not? I have more experience carrying magical artifacts than he and I feel no love or greed when I look upon this evil thing, so why should I not try?” She extended a hand toward it, but Gandalf reached forth and snatched her wrist. 

“Don’t Din,” he said in a booming voice. It was not full of anger, but fear. “Capable though you are, you cannot touch this ring. I fear it would not call you ‘friend’ even in an attempt to trick you as it did Bilbo. What you carry makes you an agent of light, a light this evil would know it cannot sway. The Ring’s only course of action would be to harm you to find its freedom.”

“You mean the way the Silmaril hurt the elf who tried to take it from me?”

He nodded sadly. “Yes.”

Frodo looked helplessly at the trinket. “It really must be me, mustn't it?”

Another regretful nod. “I am sorry to ask this of you, young Frodo. Once we get the Ring to Rivendell, perhaps Elrond can find another bearer, but for now, we must entrust the Ring to you. It will not be able to remain hidden in the Shire for much longer. You must leave soon, though not too quickly lest it draw unwanted attention, and leave the name of Baggins behind you. But you needn’t go alone. Din and I will come also.”

Frodo nodded in understanding. “I will sell Bag End; Pretend I am moving back to Buckland. It should only take a few weeks to get everything sorted.”

“Very well. In the meantime, I will seek council with the head of my Order and we shall make for Rivendell when I return.”

Sam would be coming with them as well. Gandalf had found him eavesdropping and thought it too risky, both for them and for Sam, to leave him behind. Frodo made good on his word and was selling Bag End to the greedy Sackville Bagginses and buying a small home in Buckland to keep up pretenses. It would break Bilbo’s old heart to see his home handed off to his dislikable relatives after all these years. Two weeks passed and then a third with no word from Gandalf. By week four, Din was once again turning into a tightly wound ball of nerves.

She currently sat fretting in the dining room of Bag End. Frodo had not moved out just yet. Deeds were still being finalized. She wrung her hands together, sitting on the dining table wishing that Gandalf had been willing to give them more information about where the “head of his Order” was so they could at least send a letter of inquiry.

A knock came at the front door suddenly and Din perked up. Could it be Gandalf? Frodo was out at the market, having refused her insistence to bring her with him. He claimed that if she spent much more time around him publicly, people would gossip that she was more than just his housekeeper. She hopped off the table and tripped on her skirts—she had not worn skirts since her appointment to the Guard in Erebor—and peeked out the window for a glimpse at the visitor with mumbled curses at the stuffy garment.

She was surprised to find that it was, in fact, a human man. It was not Gandalf, however. The hood of a cloak hid this human’s face from both the sun and her view. Ever curious now, Din hiked up her skirt and hurried to the door. The man’s crisp blue eyes looked up from beneath the hood of his weather-stained cloak as the round door opened. A short beard shadowed the bottom half of his face and dark, shoulder-length hair peeked out from under the hood and caught in the late summer breeze.

“Apologies,” he said in an easy, soft voice, dipping his head in a respectful gesture. “I am looking for the master of this house, Frodo Baggins.”

“He’s not in at the moment. I can take a message for him.”

“Where might I find him?”

Din narrowed her eyes, suspicious at his eagerness. “He went to the market and won’t be back for some time. If you tell me your name, I—”

The stranger shook his head. “That’s alright. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

Before she could get another word in, he turned and left in long strides that carried him quickly down the path compared to folk in these parts. Din narrowed her eyes again at his retreating form. She pulled back inside for a moment to snatch a basket and then hurried back outside to follow the stranger under the guise of going to the market herself. She tried to act natural but had little practice shadowing people. Not to mention, he moved much quicker than she did and she sometimes had to sprint to catch up to where she could see him again.

At first, it seemed he was heading for the Market to look for Frodo, but at the last turn he went the wrong way. This road would lead him out of town. Din grew suspicious once more. Had he noticed her following and thought she might give up if he appeared to leave? He would be sorely disappointed. The inquisitive little dwarf continued to tail the stranger down the dirt path, refusing to let herself become distracted by the vibrant green of the grassy hills illuminated brightly by the sun. Having spent the first 87 years of her life in a mountain, she had never seen grass or trees up close until she left Erid Luin. She still felt now, as she did then, that she would never tire of the stunning beauty and life of the color green.

Intent as she was on her target, Din paid little attention to her surroundings. As such, she did not notice when two hobbits came barreling out of a cornfield. They did not see her either as they were too busy looking over their shoulders. One of the hobbits collided with her and she ended up flat on her back and, despite herself, she let out a girlish squeal in her surprise. It was Pippin she found above her, his face stricken with horror at what he’d done.

“Well don’t just sit there in a stupor; Get off!” said Merry. 

Merry pushed his cousin off of Din with his foot since his arms were full of ears of corn and heads of cabbage. Din hurried to her feet as Pippin gathered his own armful of goods which had scattered about the ground. Around Merry, she saw no sign of the stranger anywhere down the path. Annoyance flared in her chest. She snatched her fallen basket from the ground and turned on the troublemakers, who were talking eagerly about what they would cook with their loot.

“Drop those now.”

They stopped and shrank back a smidge from the anger on her face and dropped their arms, letting the crops fall to the ground about their feet. Pippin went so far as to hold up his hands as if to prove there was nothing left in them.

“It’s alright, truly! I’ve known farmer Maggot all my life. Always been hospitible with ‘is crops. It’s just that, over the past few nights he’s been getting a strange visitor at his door, he says. I guess he got tired of them coming onto ‘is property. He set his dogs loose without even checking who we were.”

“Did he say what this ‘visitor’ wanted?”

“He was looking for Frodo,” mused Merry with a pensive look. “I wonder why.”

That settled it. Whether or not farmer Maggot’s visitor was the same one Din had just encountered, she and Frodo could not afford to wait for Gandalf any longer. Either one man was poking around looking for Frodo or several men were. She turned around and headed for the market to find Frodo and Merry and Pippin fell into step on either side of her.

“I’m sorry for runnin’ into you, Shayli,” said Pippin.

She gave him a distracted smile. “That’s alright, Pippin.”

“What’re you wearin’ those for?” asked Merry.

Din looked to him in confusion and followed his gaze to the ground where her deerskin shoes peeked out from beneath her skirts as she walked. She flushed. “I...I’ve always been rather ashamed of my feet. They’re much too small and barely have any hair on them at all…”

Pippin frowned sympathetically and reached behind her to swat his cousin’s arm. “Don’t be rude, Merry,” he hissed. His puppy-like green eyes moved back up to her. “Don’t be ashamed, Shayli. What you lack in foot size, you more than make up for in height! I’ve never seen a hobbit lass reach four feet!”

“I’ve never even heard of it!” agreed Merry.

Din blushed again. While she had grown an astonishing four inches in the past seventy years, she was still a bit short by dwarven standards. To hobbits, however, she was apparently considered tall and exotic. She had heard other hobbits whisper this behind her back. “Thank you,” she replied prudently.

“Where are you going?” asked Merry inquisitively.

“I needed a break from cleaning Bag End, so I’m off to look for Frodo at the market to see if he needs any help,” she fibbed.

“You know what? Pippin and I will help, aye Pippin?” Merry peered around her to his friend with a challenging look in his blue eyes. “Last one to find him gets to take all of Shayli’s cleaning duties tomorrow.”

Din grinned. “What if I find him first?”

Merry looked pleased that she wished to participate. “Then we will...oh I know! We will cook dinner for you and pamper you like the goddess you are.”

Din smirked and rolled her eyes. “Aule’s beard, you really are like Kili,” she muttered to herself.

“Huh?”

She shook her head dismissively in amusement. “You have a deal.” 

Din abruptly took off at a run, leaving Merry and Pippin to sprint after her with cries of surprise. Din cut across low hills until she reached the bridge over the wee creek in Hobbiton, right before the market. She hopped onto the rock railing and peered over the bustling heads of hobbits at the market stalls. Luckily it was not as full or as loud as a human market.

“Oy, Frodo!” She called out. Near a fish stall at the far end of the space, a head of dark curls and bright eyes swiveled in her direction. Pippin bolted past her as she hopped down only to get waylaid by a virtual barricade of hobbits clustered around a stall with a sign that read “Mushrooms”. Here, Din’s “exotic” status played to her advantage. She flashed a pleasant smile and a group of male hobbits bashfully parted to let her pass. She bounced victoriously into the less clustered area of the market and across to where she had spotted Frodo. Right when she thought she was about to claim her victory, however, she found Merry standing before Frodo, the pair talking happily.

“Ah, there you are, Shayli,” Merry said cheekily. “I thought perhaps you had gotten lost.”

“What’s going on?” Frodo asked with a laugh.

“How did you—?” Incredulity kept her from finishing the question as she glared at Merry.

The hobbit thrust a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a shortcut across the creek, so long as you’re not afraid to hop across the stones.”

So, while she’d looped around to the bridge, he’d just hopped across the creek further back. Din set her hands on her hips and gave a defeated pout. A few moments later, Pippin scurried to her side, red-faced and puffing from their sprint.

“Pippin, you know about the shortcut!” Merry scolded.

“I fell in last time, remember?” he said, clutching at a cramp in his side.

Din patted him on the shoulder. “Of course you did,” she said with a chuckle. He flushed in embarrassment.

“What’s all this about?” asked Frodo again.

“I need to talk to you,” answered Din.

His face grew serious. “Alright. Walk me home.”

Din nodded and the pair separated from the others. “Thank you, laddies!” Din called with a wave over her shoulder to Pippin and Merry. As such, she did not notice the suspicious look they shared. Frodo and Din trailed back through the market and over the bridge. Once they were away from prying ears, Din told Frodo of the visitor. 

“Does he sound familiar?” She asked.

Frodo shook his head. “No, I don’t know any big folk besides Gandalf.”

“He certainly knew you. I know Gandalf has not returned, but we need to leave the Shire. Something is wrong.”

Reluctance dimmed the hobbit’s face. “When?”

“As soon as we can, I’m afraid.”

“Alright,” he said wanly.

The pair marched morosely to Bag End, so preoccupied that neither noticed the two small figures watching them from behind a bush beside the road.


	3. Flight to Bucklebury

Chapter 3: Flight to Bucklebury

Din and Frodo spread the word that he would be leaving by noon the next day, which would hopefully give them privacy to actually sneak out after nightfall instead before anyone was the wiser. Pippin insisted on keeping up with his bargain and showed up to clean the house the next day, despite Din’s insistence that he need not worry about it now that Frodo was leaving. Merry moved what belongings Frodo was bringing to Buckland in a big wagon while Frodo settled the sale of Bag End, which now sat empty. As the horizon turned indigo, Din grabbed her pack from the floor by her door and swung it over her shoulder. It felt good to be wearing breeches again rather than the stuffy layers of skirts. Her boots clumped against the hardwood floor as she headed for the front door. Pippin was sweeping the empty rooms as Frodo looked forlornly about his hollow home. The dwarf turned guiltily into the hall and left him alone for a few more minutes to leave his life behind.

Crisp air met her out on the front stoop. The stars were turning bright and, among them, she found the star the elves called Earendil. Was it truly him as the story claimed, she wondered, watching over Middle Earth by the light of his Silmaril? She pulled her own Silmaril from her pocket and held it up against the night sky. It glowed with a beautiful bluish white light. Did being its bearer mean that she, too, would eventually watch over Middle Earth from among the stars?

Voices drew her attention to the next hobbit hole down the hill, though she could not see the front door. She concealed the stone quickly in her palm. One voice was unmistakably Sam’s father, but the other sent a chill up her spine. She could not discern the words it spoke, as it spoke quietly, but for some reason, it set her teeth on edge. It was certainly not the same man who had come to the door earlier.

“Mr. Baggins?” Came the old Gaffer’s usually loud voice. “No, Mr. Baggins left sometime this morning! Where to? Well, that’s no secret, he’s moved to Bucklebury or some such place. Down yonder. Yes, it is a fair way. No, I can’t give no message. Good night to you!”

Din heard the old hobbit shut his door rather irritably. Most hobbits seemed disgruntled by the number of strange folk passing through their land of late; men, elves, a few dwarves, and even a giant once. Din thanked their lucky stars that the old Gaffer had somehow misheard and thought they had left today instead of tomorrow. She turned to rush back inside but instead found Frodo and Sam coming out to meet her. She held a finger to her lips before either spoke and pointed ‘round the corner to the west side of Bag End. And so, their journey began with them sneaking through Hobbiton in the dark, for Din dared not to draw her stone again to light their way and give any pursuers a beacon to follow.

They trekked for four or five hours through green hills toward the Woody-End, a wild corner in the Eastfarthing. Here, it seemed the hobbits’ legs would carry them no further this night, so they found a secluded spot and settled in. There were too few of them to set a watch, so Din tucked them out of view and hoped it would do. After keeping an eye on the hobbits until they fell asleep, she curled up on the ground with her back against a tree to sleep as well.

Her dream took her to a familiar desolate, snow-caked wasteland where an exhausted figure trudged through the frozen fluff. A longsword of elegant sweeping design dragged a trail in the snow as the dwarf allowed the ground to help him carry its weight. Snowflakes clung to the dark curtain of his hair and cropped beard and the stark white atmosphere brightened the crisp blueness of his eyes. In the distance, a dark spot stood out in contrast. It was growing gradually larger. Several inches over, he spotted another and then another. So it would begin again. A monstrous wail drew his attention behind. A grotesque orc sprinted toward him. The dwarf tightened his grip on his sword and drew the weight of the heavy metal into his arms once again. He lifted it to swing as the creature came upon him with its own weapon drawn.

“Thorin!” Din said as she jolted back awake and pulled the dagger from her belt. Any thoughts of her dream were quelled, however, when she spotted a fourth figure in their wee camp. “Pippin?”

He’d frozen midway through setting down his pack when she’d woken and drawn her weapon. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Who’s Thorin?

Din sighed and sheathed her dagger. “No one. What are you doing here?”

“Frodo forgot a few things, so I thought I would come along and bring them. You made it mighty difficult to follow you, though.” There was a scolding note to his tone that made Din smile.

She mused, not for the first time, how similar his accent was to her own. She had never spent time in the Tookland near Hobbiton. Could the hobbits of Tookland have somehow adopted the Erid Luin accent some long time ago, or vice versa? Din sat against a tree, eyeing the hobbit. “It’s almost as if we didn’t want to be followed.”

“Is it about the strange people who’ve been askin’ after Frodo?” asked the curious hobbit. 

“I don’t like the sound of them,” she answered honestly.

He nodded and stifled a yawn.“Right you are. Too many odd folk of late and no tellin’ what they want.”

Din smiled. She saw no harm in letting the lad accompany them to Buckland. It may even raise Frodo’s spirits. “Get some rest, Pippin.” She settled back down to do so herself. She was about to drift to sleep when the high pitched neigh of a horse cut through the air. Both she and Pippin sat up. Din drew her dagger once more and krept to the wall of bushes surrounding their tiny camp.

“Stay put,” she whispered sternly over her shoulder.

Out she ventured, to the west where the sound had come from. A hobbit she was not, so stealth was not her forte, but she had gotten better and moving quietly through the underbrush. She did not have to creep too far before the horse let out another loud cry, much closer now. Din could see a narrow path and the form of a dark horse moved along some distance off. In the saddle, a figure cloaked in black sat hunched. Din tucked herself further out of view as hairs stood up all over her body.

Pippin appeared at her side and the dwarf jumped. Hobbits really could move silently when they wished. She gave him an exasperated look. “Yoo are too curious fer yer own good, Peregrin Took,” she scolded quietly, her Erid Luin accent coming out strong in her animated and anxious state.

“No less curious than you, lass,” he said.

“Yes, but I am armed.”

Pippin frowned, looking unusually serious, stern even. “Why is that? Why did you appear out of nowhere so soon before Frodo suddenly decided to move? And if you were just a simple farm girl, then why do you seem more at home sneaking through the woods with a dagger in your hand?”

A shrill wail pierced the air. The pair jumped and looked back at the path. The dark rider had stopped perhaps thirty feet away. The cry had not sounded like the horse. Had the man made it? What kind of man was this?

“Go wake Frodo and Sam. We need to leave.”

By some stroke of luck, the hobbit didn’t argue and retreated. Din continued to watch the dark figure. It dismounted and drooped its head to the side as if listening. Curious, Din lifted a rock from the mud and chucked it across the path. The stone crashed through the underbrush and the hood swiveled towards the sound. It moved toward it in a hunch. From within the hood came the sound of sniffing to catch a scent. Din’s unease rose to a fearful peak. This creature did not seem human. After listening and sniffing about for a few more moments, it seemed to grow impatient. It wheeled around and swept back over to its waiting steed.

Din watched it leave and waited until it disappeared down the path before she dared to head back to camp to make sure it would not hear her. Frodo and Sam were packing their things through bleary eyes, trying to blink their sleepiness away. Once they’d hefted their packs onto their backs, Din lead them from their small clearing.

“What was it?” murmured Frodo, close so only she could hear. He was unable to keep the fear from his tone.

“I have no clue and we should not stick around to find out. I think it may have been who I heard talkin’ to Sam’s father in Hobbiton. I don’t like this.”

“We can’t keep moving forever, we’ll need sleep.”

“I know…” she said guiltily.

They had two more run-ins with the black rider the following day and four the day after that. Din wasn’t all too certain that it was even the same one every time, but had no way to prove her theory. They just seemed to be catching up too quickly. The group cut through the forest and nearly every time they came across the path again, there would be the black rider, even though Din didn’t think there was a way they could have looped around on winding the road in that amount of time unless they ran at full gallop and then happened to slow to a canter as soon as they were in sight of the prey they couldn’t find.

She’d contemplated enveloping the creature in fire more than once, but that would give away their position. If there was more than one, the hobbits could get snatched by another rider. Din could definitely not outrun a horse to get them back. So, hidden they remained, waiting while the riders listened for their prey. It was slowing them down a great deal. They should have been in Buckland by now.

It was nearing sunset on the fourth day when they came to the winding road again. And again, Sam heard the clomping of horse hooves down the path. When the figure came into view, however, they saw that it was much too large to be their pursuer. It was actually a wagon.

“Farmer Maggot?” said Pippin suddenly. He rushed out of the trees and onto the dirt road before Din could catch his arm. “Farmer Maggot!” He cried, waving a hand over his head of light chestnut curls.

The wagon drew nearer and the plump hobbit behind the reins peered at Pippin and his emerging comrades, holding a hand over his eyes to see better. “Peregrin Took, is tha’ you?” he asked suspiciously.

“Aye! Where you be goin’?” Pippin asked.

Maggot stopped his wagon before them, looking down at them in uncertainty. “I’ve got a sick relative in Resway. I’m just bringing some supplies. What’re you lot doing out here?”

“Can you please help us,” asked Frodo, coming forward. “My friends are accompanying me on my move to Buckland, but I’m afraid we’re being followed. Could you give us a ride to Bucklebury Ferry?”

The older hobbit sized them up for a few moments through his bushy brows. “Followed, you say? This wouldn’t have nothing to do with that strange fellow whose been coming to my door, has it?”

The company exchanged glances. “What does this ‘strange fellow’ look like?” asked Sam nervously.

“One of the big folk, all in black. I couldn’t see his face, though.”

“That sounds like the same trouble, Sir,” Din offered.

The hobbit’s face lifted in a smile Din hadn’t expected. “‘Sir’, she says? Ain’t nobody ‘round these parts called me ‘sir’ since I was a spritely chap. Alright, I’ll give you all a lift. The ferry is on the way to Resway, anyway.”

The journey to the ferry went much quicker after that. Farmer Maggot let Din ride in front as a show of chivalry, which gave her the best vantage point to look out for the black rider on the road. It was just after nightfall when the road turned along the Brandywine River. Moonlight reflected off the gentle surface and crickets sang a chipper chant in the cool night air. The breeze, which had first felt refreshing against the sweat on her skin after their long journey, now left Din shivering in her cloak. She pulled it closer around herself, feeling her eyelids become heavy. She wasn’t sleeping enough, she knew, but she was the best prepared to keep long watches at night.

A hooded figure appeared through the fog down the road and her drowsiness faded. Din’s hand moved to her dagger, but she paused. The figure was much too small for it to be the black rider on foot. Maggot seemed to be of a similar mind.

“Who goes there?” He called out suspiciously.

“It’s Merry,” Din gasped.

“Shayli?” called Merry when he drew closer.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked. Three hobbit heads poked out around her to see as the wagon pulled to a stop.

Merry beamed in obvious relief. “And Frodo! I’ve been looking for you lot since this mornin’ when you didn’t show up in Buckland.”

“Sorry,” offered Frodo meekly.

“We ran into some trouble,” said Sam.

“I can take them to the ferry from here, Maggot.”

“Perfect. Then I can park along the road to rest. I won’t get to Resway until late afternoon tomorrow, so I need to get some sleep.”

Din and the hobbits climbed from the wagon and Merry hugged them all in turn before they marched on. The ferry came into view through the fog after a time and Din sighed in relief. The river would certainly give their pursuer trouble once they crossed. As if the thought had been a beacon, the high pitched neigh of a horse cut through the fog behind them.

“That’s odd,” said Merry, oblivious to the terrified looks on the other hobbits’ faces.

Din set her shoulders. “Go..” The others didn’t move. “Run.”

“What about you?” Sam asked in concern.

“I will delay him.”

Frodo cut in before Sam could argue. “She’ll be fine, Sam.” He sent Din a knowing look and turned Sam toward the ferry. Pippin and Merry reluctantly followed as well.

Din turned to face their enemy, marching down the road to lengthen the gap between the rider and the hobbits. The horse came into view, the rider’s cloak billowing behind him like a black cloud. Din broke into a run. The horse was nearly upon her. She spun out of the way and thrust a fist toward the rider, fueling her arm with the Silmaril’s magic. A plume of flame shot forth and enveloped him. The same piercing wail filled the air and the horse stopped to buck him off in terror as the cloak caught fire. More wails filled the air. Two more black riders sprinted through the fog down the road.

“Yeah, time to go,” she muttered. She shot down the road, her feet pounding hard into the dirt. The hobbits were all aboard the ferry, waiting for her. “Go!” she shouted with a sharp wave of her hand.

Merry pushed the little boat away from the shore with a long pole. Din could hear the horses gaining on her, but didn’t slow herself down by looking over her shoulder. She ran to the edge of the bank and put as much power into her jump as she could. Frodo, Sam, and Pippin formed a wall and caught her, though her feet still landed rather hard on the wooden ferry. Din now looked back at the river bank. Both riders were watching them, their horses restless. Giving up, they turned and took off down the path, where they were joined by two others. How many were there?

“How long will it take them to go ‘round?” she asked.

“The closest crossing is the Brandywine Bridge; Twenty miles,” Merry answered. She let out a sigh of relief and sat down to rest.

Sam sat in front of her, his inquisitive eyes looking her over. “What was that flame?”

“Was it some sort of dwarvish blasting powder?” asked Pippin.

Din gaped at him. “What?”

The lad turned a little sheepish and looked down at his hands. “Well, I mean, you are a dwarf, aye Dinli? If that is still your name.”

Din recovered and smiled. He’d figured it out, then. “Close. My name is Din. How did you—”

“Put two-and-two together, I finally did. You look different without the beard,” the hobbit observed.

Merry snorted. “Keen eyes, Pip.”

“Wasn’t there a ‘Din’ in some of old Bilbo’s stories?” asked Sam.

She looked down at her hands in her lap. “Yes.” The hobbits grew quiet, understanding what this meant. “There will be time for tales another time. For now, we must keep our eyes and ears open for any other dark riders giving us chase on the other side of the river.” They nodded their solemn agreement and peered out over the black water.

The hobbits of Buckland loved to be on the water. Having grown up learning the trade, Merry steered the ferry a hundred yards to the other side of the wide river. Lanterns twinkled along a little path, leading them into the mist, through which Din could make out little backlit round windows that marked hobbit holes. They had found relative safety, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For those who haven’t read the books, the gap between Bilbo’s birthday and when Gandalf comes back with news about the Ring was actually really, really long. About seventeen years, I think. Way to slack off, Gandalf, am I right? Like the movies, I kept it shorter.


	4. Chapter 4: Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and the hobbits make for Bree. Trouble ensues. ;)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from “The Lord of the Rings”, owned by the master himself, Mr. J. R. R. Tolkien. I do not claim ownership of these characters or settings that I am borrowing to recreate a story of my imagination. It is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am grateful to Mr. Tolkien for inventing such a magical world full of wonderful characters, without which this story would not exist.

Chapter 4: Conspiracy

Merry had already unpacked all of Frodo’s things for him. The little home looked much like Bag End, but was a good deal less spacious. Frodo moved about his “new home” with a sullen expression, likely feeling guilty for all the trouble his cousin and close friend had put himself through on his behalf. Din moved to the lad’s side and patted his shoulder, which still felt cold through his sleeve from the night’s chill. 

“I’ve lied to him,” Frodo whispered mournfully.

“No you haven’t. We may be leaving tomorrow, but you will return Frodo. I promise you that.”

Merry began to cook a late supper while the others cleaned up after their stressful journey. They let Din bathe first, so once she was done, she helped Merry. By the time they sat down to their very late meal, both she and Frodo were getting obviously restless. Din stood by the window searching for black figures moving in the dark. Wind whistled faintly against the glass, sounding eerily similar to the shrieks of those cloaked riders. She saw no movement in the dark, but would she? Black cloaks were meant to keep one hidden in the dark. Metal utensils clanked against glass plates behind her as the hobbits started eating. Even the scent of seasoned chicken, warm bread, white gravy, garlic mashed potatoes, and sliced sharp cheddar did little to stir her appetite in her anxiety.

“Cheer up, Mr. Frodo. We’re safe for now,” said Sam.

“We can’t be sure,” came Frodo’s somber response. Din turned to frown at Frodo’s pale face and debated once again going against Gandalf’s warnings and taking the ring to Rivendell herself.

Merry set the bowl of potatoes back on the table after taking several hearty scoops. “We’ll be having that story now.”

Din exchanged an uncertain look with Frodo. How much could they tell without leaving Pippin and Merry in peril? Frodo pushed food about his plate in thought. “I’m not sure I know how to tell it. This whole thing has left a foul taste in my mouth because...well, because—” He stopped, unable to find the words.

“Because you don’t know how to say goodbye,” offered Merry. He gave a knowing, sad smile. “You’ve decided to leave the Shire, of course, but danger has come for you sooner than you expected. After tonight, you’ve made up your mind to leave straight away. And you don’t want to.”

“That’s why we set all this up,” said Pippin.”

Din scowled. Of course the little trouble-makers had caught wind of their plans. “Set all what up?”

Pippin shrank back a wee bit, now nervous, so Merry continued on. “We’ve helped you with your move to keep your cover, but you didn’t really believe we would let you leave without us, did you?” He asked Frodo.

“You must go, and therefore we must go, too.” Pippin nodded, his decision resolute.

“We know the Ring is no laughing matter, but we’ll do our best to help you.”

“The Ring!” cried Frodo.

So they knew everything?

Merry gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, yes. I’ve known about the Ring’s existence for years, since before Bilbo left. I saw him use it once. Didn’t know what it really was, o’ course. I’m also probably the only one besides you, Frodo, who has seen that book o’ his.”

Din perked up. “What book?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Frodo before turning to Merry again. “Go on.”

“Well, I kept my knowledge to myself until this Spring when things seemed to get serious. We formed our conspiracy after Gandalf’s visit.”

Din turned a weathering glare on Sam, though he was more concerned with the disapproving scowl Frodo shot him. “I trusted you,” scolded the hobbit.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo. I meant no disrespect, but Gandalf said you should bring those you can trust, and you can trust us. You can trust us to stick with you until the end, to stick to you and keep your secrets. What you can’t do is trust us to stay here while you go off into greater danger.”

Frodo looked to Din, who shrugged. This was up to him. He stood from the table and faced the wall, folding his arms around himself. “You’re a deceitful lot.” He turned back around and Din was glad to find him grinning. “But I give in.”

The hobbits beamed victoriously.

The little company prepared to leave the following morning. Despite how little rest they had gotten, they needed to move on. Fortunately, they were able to get ponies this time, which would help them keep distance between them and the black riders. None complained about their drowsiness. Merry, having grown up in Buckland, knew the Old Forest on its border better than any of them. His map had a trail they could follow. Din’s restless mind eased once they were on the road. Not once that day did they encounter one of the black riders, so by the next day, she was resting easier.

Pippin’s pony fell into step beside hers as they began their trek on the third day, his light brown curls bouncing with every clop of hoof. “So, Din…” He paused, seeming nervous.

“Yes, Pippin?” She offered a smile, which brightened him up.

“Do you think you could tell us your story, now?”

The other hobbits urged their ponies closer as well, curious, until they formed a clot on the path, all bundled around her. Bilbo had been secretive about his journey with the dwarves. He had once told her it was due to the lack of interest hobbits would find in the tale. Frodo knew it, of course, but he had told no others. Frodo had explained to her that Bilbo’s mysterious book was one in which the old hobbit had recently written the entire journey down. Pippin, Merry, and Sam were not so close-minded as other hobbits, and since they were coming with her and Frodo, she saw no harm in telling them the truth.

And so, she told them the tale of the dwarves’ quest to Erebor as best she could remember after seventy years; Of long days on the road, troubles with trolls, Beorn’s garden, skirmishes with large spiders, evading the Mirkwood elves; Of their weary battles in Dale, her fight with Smaug, their victory at reclaiming the mountain and everything it cost; Of the enormous battle in the snow that had taken away those she loved.

The hobbits listened to her tale with wonder, even Frodo, who had heard it from Bilbo’s perspective. There had been times when she and Bilbo had been separated, so there were things he did not know. Bilbo had never even met Tauriel, nor had he been present while the dwarves were held captive by the Mirkwood Elves or for Smaug’s or Thorin’s deaths.

Din grew quiet at the end and the hobbits seemed at a loss for words, so they rode in silence for a while. The sun was sinking close to the horizon now. Had it really take that long to retell the story?

They arrived at Bree several days later. Something about the town set Din’s teeth on edge. It stank of sweat and of mud after the recent downpour. The man at the front gate had nearly refused to let them in and people now looked at them with too much curiosity as they crept through the town that evening. Hobbits were not so uncommon in this area. Bree had initially been a hobbit settlement before the humans had all moved to the area. While hobbits were now scarce about the town, she did occasionally see one scuttling about. Everyone seemed to be on edge. Had there been sightings of the unsettling Black Riders to make everyone so wary?

They got rooms at the Prancing Pony Inn that Gandalf had instructed them to find. As they trudged into the entryway, exhausted, a human man bustled into the room. His face was red and his breaths came in puffs. He was clearly running himself ragged. He stopped short at the sight of five petite figures by the check-in desk.

“Apologies, young hobbits! My name’s Barliman Butterbur. You’re looking for rooms, I take it? Seems we’ve been gettin’ people non-stop for the past week.”

“How many rooms do you have available?” asked Din.

“I could set you up in three if that would suit you.”

“That’ll do,” said Frodo. “We’ve also got five ponies who need stabling.”

“Alright, we can accommodate that. Nob!” the man bellowed. 

A hobbit bustled into the room, looking just as overworked, and Mr. Butterbur instructed him to stable their ponies, after which the man led them to their rooms. One or two other hobbits were employed at the inn like Nob. Mr. Butterbur even had rooms specifically built to the tastes of hobbits, with round doors and windows, though it was a little jarring in contrast to the square room. Din, as the only female “hobbit” was given her own and the others bunked up in pairs.

Unsure if Gandalf would be using his real name, the group ventured to the inn’s pub, where they hoped to find the old wizard. Alas, they found no sign of his easily distinguishable pointy hat. Merry and Pippin got along with the other patrons quite well. Din watched the pair laugh raucously and demonstrate several hobbit drinking songs. Some of the patrons who were familiar with hobbits were even able to sing along. It struck her, not for the first time, how much the pair reminded her of Fili and Kili. Not carbon copies, of course; Pippin had an innocence about him that neither Fili or Kili would even be able to pretend to possess. She watched the hobbits sadly, thinking of Kili. She missed hearing his boisterous laughter at gatherings. The thought left a lump in her throat.

To distract herself from such glum thoughts, she went back to looking about the room. A man caught her eye, leaning against one of the support beams near the door. Firelight from a brazier behind him gleamed off his bald head and she couldn’t tell if his face was dirty or if patchy stubble grew on his jaw, but the leathers he wore were definitely dirty. He seemed to be watching their group, paying mind to them out of what seemed like more than idle curiosity. Din spotted the innkeeper bustling around and lifted her hand in a wave.

Barliman strode over to their table, red-faced and huffing, to collect their empty mugs. “Mr. Butterbur,” she began, leaning closer to keep her voice lower. His brown eyes shifted to hers inquisitively. “Who is that disheveled man by the door?”

Butterbur barely even had to glance over. “Bill Ferny. Opportunistic fellow, not much liked ‘round here.”

Frodo, beside Din, leaned into the conversation as well. “And what about the man in the corner? He’s been watching us since we sat down.”

Mr. Butterbur turned in the direction indicated by the hobbit and quickly turned back around. His red face had paled and his voice shook slightly when he spoke. “He’s one of them ranger folk. I’m not sure what his name is, but ‘round here, he’s known as Strider.” The man scurried off with their empty mugs, giving Din a view of the figure in the corner. A hood was drawn over his face, so how the man had recognized him, she couldn’t guess. Perhaps he wasn’t even watching them. Also curious was the unease in the man’s tone. What was so worrisome about a ranger?

Regardless, she kept an eye on both men throughout the evening. She was about to recommend that they all get some rest when Frodo’s attention was drawn to the bar. Pippin was telling the other patrons the colorful tale of Bilbo’s farewell party.

Din frowned at the worried pout on Frodo’s lips. “Even if he tells them of Bilbo’s trick, you don’t really think he would mention the ring, do you? He may be foolish at times, but he’s no idiot.”

“I hope not, but either way, it will bring the name of Baggins to their minds. What if those black riders somehow catch drift of the name?” 

The anxious hobbit scurried over to where Pippin sat. To Din’s shock and horror, one of the men backed up right into him and knocked the little fellow to the floor. There was a tiny glint of gold as he fell and then he promptly disappeared. Din jolted up in her chair but was uncertain what to do. At the same moment, Bill Ferny straightened. A knowing smile twisted his features and he made for the door.

Din pursed her lips and made the quick decision to follow him out. Frodo and the others would manage. It was the middle of the night, so only one or two citizens were out and about on the muddy street. The scoundrel was easy to spot. Din trailed behind him, careful not to let her boots slap too much in the wet mud. He crept to the building adjacent to the inn, clearly trying not to be seen. The sly little dwarf waited until he slipped inside before following him in.

The familiar stink of horse was chokingly strong inside, but the air was warm and sconces lit the room with the amber glow of firelight. Straw carpeted the dirt floor and the smell mingled with the scent of horse hair and excrement. She found Ferny at the second stall, pulling the door open as he had done with the first. So, he was going to release the horses. Had someone paid him to look out for Frodo and keep him delayed if he found him?

Din let out a surprised squeak and raised her hands delicately to her lips, as if she were a simple stable worker coming to tend her charges and had stumbled upon the miscreant. He spun to face her and grinned. That's when the stable door shut behind her and a pair of arms wrapped around her, pinning her own arms down. The person lifted her small body off the ground. She didn’t struggle.

Ferny strutted over, all smirk and arrogance. “What've we got here? Nosin’ about where you shouldn't?”

Din snorted. “You should talk. I'll give you one chance. You're going to leave and mind your own business, leave my party and me alone.”

Both men laughed. “Or you'll what?” Asked her captor.

“Tiny thing like you ought to know better than to pick a fight.”

Since the other man was holding her weight for her, Din swung her legs up and wrapped them around Ferny's neck to pull him close. The power in her legs caught him off guard. “Oh please, laddie,” she snarled, letting her full accent seep out as she bared her teeth. “I was slaying dragons before your grandmother even spread her legs.”

Before he could speak, she opened her mouth and let out a blip of flame. Not enough to do any real damage—she couldn't breathe much more than a burp of fire, yet—but it did what she wanted. As she released him, he threw himself back, cupping his face and wailing. She pitched her head back into her captor’s nose and heard a satisfying crunch, followed by more howling. The scoundrel dropped her.

Ferny was coming at her with a knife now. To her delight, she saw that his eyebrows and some of his patchy beard had been signed off. She wove under the swing of his blade and grabbed his arm with both her hands, giving her the perfect opportunity to bring her head up into his elbow. He screamed and dropped the dagger, which she snatched in the air. She ducked under his flying fist and swung the knife out to slice his thigh. Another scream filled the space. An arrow flew past her right and into the back wall of the barn. She froze.

“Turn around,” said a new voice. She complied, only to see that he wasn’t talking to her. The second man had been inches from jumping on her, though he was unarmed. A third man stood by the once again open barn door with an arrow-knocked bow pointed at her would-be attacker.

Din gaped and glared. “You!” It was the man who had come to the door at Bag End the week prior. “You followed us!”


End file.
